


Sorrows of Pride

by StrandsofNehn



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Injury, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3755119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrandsofNehn/pseuds/StrandsofNehn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A blip from Blythe Trevelyan's life, post game. Can be read as a Lavellan. !Warning! About a miscarriage. Also edited to fit a little bit better with the new canon since trespasser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorrows of Pride

The gates of Skyhold burst open and the booming voice of The Iron Bull could be heard over the quiet of night.

“Send for a healer! The Inquisitor is hurt!”

Blythe felt broken in his arms, and faintly wondered if she had ever heard him call her Inquisitor before. Cassandra was right at her side, calling to her and asking her questions that she couldn’t comprehend. A fog was settled over her senses.

The yellow torch light revealed their path over to the surgeon, and Blythe revelled in the heat they cast on her skin. Suddenly she felt a agonizing pain in her.... somewhere and felt her body jerk and voice cry out.

She thought she heard Cassandra curse but she had to be hallucinating, her head felt so light.

“Get the commander!”

_Cullen..._

The door to their bedroom burst open and Cullen woke with a start, scrambling out of bed and snatching the sword he kept near by. He had no sooner pulled it from the sheath than Josephine flew around the railing in all haste.

“J-Josephine, I’m so-” He started, putting the sword away.

“Commander, it’s Blythe, she’s returned. But she’s hurt, she’s with the healers.”

It took a moment of blank staring before comprehension. He cast the sword away and started running. Josephine tried her best to stay right at his heels but he made it to the courtyard much before her, bare feet sinking in the snow. The bite of the cold did little to phase him.

In a jerk, he found himself physically restrained, the he shouts of his companions finally reaching his ears.

“Let me go!” he shouted at who had to be The Iron Bull.

Cullen was not blind to the blood trail in the snow, crimson staining the pure surface. Any blood loss like that would be life threatening, threatening Blythe's life.

Cassandra appeared in front of him, but Iron Bull's grip did not loosen.

“Com-Cullen. Cullen, you must calm yourself. You are of no use in there, you must let the healers do their work.” She looked him in the eyes, and in her voice was a pleading Cassandra was not known for, “We must stay out of their way." 

Something in Cassandra’s face made Cullen pause and stop fighting. Cassandra was one of his good friends and he trusted her completely, and what was more, so did Blythe.

She searched his eyes and he nodded, straightening up and Bull let him go. He remained a silent figure a few paces away from the healing room, praying to the Maker that she would survive, that she would recover.

_Please, Maker, do not take what you have graciously given._

Hours had past, Cullen had been brought his boots and a thick cloak that he wore but sat uselessly around him. Cassandra had brought him some bread and ale to warm him and currently, they both sat side by side along the wall, waiting with bated breath for news of their dear Blythe. His love, her friend and Skyhold’s leader.

Cullen all but jumped out of his skin when the wooden door opened. Dorian walked out of the healing room, blood not his own staining his clothes. Dorian set his gaze on Cullen and Cassandra, expressions hopeful and scared.

Dorian opened his mouth once, twice and closed it again. Ironically, Dorian was at a loss for words and Cullen read his expression clearly.

“ **No**. No, no, no--"

“She’s alright Cullen.”

“She? She’s... Then why..? What’s wrong?”

Cassandra said nothing, she just watched as Dorian’s face contracted and struggled to make his emotions clear and Cullen’s confusion and fear deepen. She noticed how Dorian looked at him almost pleadingly, apologetically, ignoring her completely.

“The healers did all they could, we all did but we-” He cut himself off, “Blythe will make a full physical recovery, but she needs a few weeks of bed rest. Her body went through a lot, and the trauma... Cullen, I am so sorry. She lost the baby.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened, she had no idea Blythe was even pregnant. She didn’t tell anyone, did Cullen--

The sight of him made her blood run cold. His face was pale, shock plain across his features. This was news to him. Did Blythe even know? Her thoughts ran mad.

Harsh mutterings snapped Cassandra from her stupor to see Cullen was on his knees, rocking himself back and forth with his hands over his face. Her heart faltered at the sight, she looked up quickly at Dorian and they shared a look of mutual pain and uncertainty.

A broken cry came from the Commander, something that may have been a word but was filled with too much emotion to be recognized. Her heart clenched and made her reach out to him slowly. When her hand made contact with his arm Cullen did not move, so she moved to place her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

Minutes passed and he shrugged her off. Determination colored his features, even with tears still in his eyes as he strode inside.

_Maker watch over them._

Blythe lay on the healers cot. She felt hollow. The room was empty and cold but she was thankful for how it cooled her red skin. She lay without her shirt, the corset like band remaining across her breasts and thin blanket doing little to stave out the chill of the room or warm the feeling of pain in the most primitive parts of her heart.

Her lip quivered as she pressed her right hand flat across her stomach and felt a tear slip from her eye. Suddenly she yearned for the loving embrace of her husband, of her bed, and, for the first time in a long time, her mother. She was always good at dealing with difficult matters.

This was how Cullen had found her, so consumed in grief she didn’t notice his rather dramatic entrance and he instantly regretted not coming in sooner. They could grieve together. He brought the cot closest to hers over and sat on its edge. She didn’t look at him, she couldn’t.

Cullen sighed, reaching out his hand and brushing the sweaty tufts of platinum hair out of her face, tracing the curves with his fingers. Her hair had grown since they had first met, once it was only a patch of blonde on the top of her head but now it fell to her chin in waves, framing her face.

A tear fell from her tightly closed eyes, going over her ghostly pale skin, her numerous freckles and disappearing past swollen and discolored lips.

Cullen sighed for what felt the millionth time, unsure of what to do.

“Cullen,” Her voice came as a whisper. Her remaining hand, Dagna's invention abandoned during surgery, reached up to still his on her face, “I... I am so sorry.” Her voice broke.

Understanding washed through him, “Oh, love. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it though?” She cried, “I didn’t need to go out into the field, I could have stayed here! I just needed to prove-- I just-- I--”

His heart broke as he watched his wife succumb to the grief. He stood up and laced their fingers together and leaned his forehead onto hers, unable to do much else.

“Blythe...” 

She wheezed and coughed through the tears, unable to say anything back. She was so cold. He untied his cloak, placing it beside her legs and climbed onto the cot behind her. Mindful of her soreness, he slowly sat her up and leaned her against his chest with impressive dexterity. He gently held her close and imparted some of his warmth to her freezing body, and laid his cloak over them.

They sat there for what felt like years and seconds simultaneously, and Blythe slowly quieted, although the pain still lingered. She leaned against her husband, allowing herself to find comfort there.

“Come now love, let’s go to bed.”

She didn’t respond and Cullen didn’t expect her to. Soon, she was wrapped in his arms as he walked to their quarters. Skyhold was sleeping, so they only saw patrols who paid them little mind which Cullen was thankful for. He carried her like he did the day they were married, his arms securely around her in tender and gentle affection, through the main hall and to their rooms.

Blythe closed her eyes, and she could picture the Orlaisian villa they had spent their honeymoon in, when they got around to it. He had carried her from the door to the bedroom in the name of tradition and she had teased him half heartedly all the while warmth bloomed in her chest. It seemed simpler then.

In their room, Cullen sat on their bed, and cradled her to his chest, neither of them speaking. He buried his face in her hair and breathed her in.

“They told me I was shot.”

She felt him nod, “Yes,” His voice horse, “You were ambushed by bandits, a lucky shot of an arrow pierced your side." He swallowed thickly, "You nearly died from the blood loss and the trauma...”

Cullen took in a shaking breath. It would be a while before he could say the word.

Blythe felt the damp on her shoulder and knew he was crying. She was crying too.

“Did... did you know?”

A sob scratched it’s way up her throat, “No.”

Faces flew through her minds eye, mages from Ostwick, her brother, soldiers who didn't make it, friends who left, blurred faces of those lost so long ago they couldn't even be properly remembered.

All images of those she had loved and lost.

The tears came faster now, hotter behind her tightly closed eye lids. And a picture of a girl came alongside the older wounds. A girl with sunshine colored hair, in spirals that rivaled Blythe's sister-in-laws', a forest green gaze and a light in her smile that she couldn't bare to love.

Another loved one she had failed.

The hands that desperately clung to her husband's shirt shakily moved to where her child had slept, pressed against sensitive skin and gaze. She started to curse the prosthetic Dagna made.

She couldn't feel the wounds in her own skin.

Blythe could hear herself growing louder distantly, the image of freckles and sunshine glaring too brightly to be aware of her husbands voice, the chill of new snow or even the ache in her side.

Her breathing came quicker and her eyes bled tears and freck _les and sunshine and green and spirals and----_

The whole of Skyhold echoed with a sorrowful shriek.


End file.
